Who Wants to Marry a Duke - Sabrina Jeffries Page 0,14
Beatrice. We’ll be spending quite a bit of time together, I imagine.”
Olivia certainly hoped so. She liked the duchess. Beatrice never seemed to put on airs. “Then you must call me Olivia,” she countered.
“I will, thank you. And I’ll ask you this before my mother-in-law does: were you named after the character in Twelfth Night?”
“Papa says I wasn’t. My mother never said, or if she did, I don’t remember. She died of consumption when I was eight, and Papa remarried very quickly. Lady Norley has been my mother in all respects for the past nineteen years.”
Beatrice stared across the room. “My mother died bearing me, so I never knew her at all. I’m named after Dante’s true love, but my mother-in-law prefers to think I was named after the Beatrice in Much Ado about Nothing. I don’t mind. It means I fit right in with the family. The dowager duchess gave all but Gwyn playwrights’ surnames for their Christian names. And even Gwyn is named after an actress.”
“That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
Beatrice nodded. “They’re an unusual family. Why, my husband and Thorn are so close one would never guess they’re only half brothers. They were raised together for a time, and it appears to have strengthened their filial bond.”
Olivia wondered if Beatrice was warning her not to get between the two brothers. Then again, Olivia had never been good at reading such subtleties of behavior, and the duchess seemed genuine and open, not the sort to hint at things.
“It’s lovely that they get along,” Olivia said. “I have no siblings, I’m afraid. I often wonder if I would have liked some. Or if they would merely have proved a nuisance.”
“I have only the one brother, Joshua—now Gwyn’s husband—and he can be both a nuisance and a pleasure, sometimes all at once.” Beatrice laughed lightly. “But I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”
Olivia was a bit jealous. With Papa absent most of the time, her stepmother always trying to push her in one direction or another, and her uncle only speaking of chemistry, Olivia wished she had someone nearer her age with whom to commiserate.
Beatrice scanned the ballroom yet again. “I may have to go fetch Grey and Thorn myself. We’ve already monopolized too much of your time this evening as it is, so I know you’re probably looking forward to a dance.”
With Thornstock? Hardly. Thank goodness she wore gloves, because the very thought of being in his arms again made her hands grow clammy. Especially given that he was so unreasonably angry at her. “Actually, I tend to prefer not dancing. I enjoy watching people far more than I do participating.”
The duchess smiled. “I understand. Grey is very patient with me on the dance floor, but I just learned some of the newer steps in the past year, and I’m not quite as steady on my feet as he is.”
“I used to be awful at it, but my stepmother hired a dancing master for me, and after far too many lessons I feel a bit more comfortable.” Olivia cast Beatrice a rueful smile. “A tiny bit.”
“Thankfully, Thorn is light on his feet. Follow his lead, and you shall have no issues, I assure you.”
“Unless he carries me about,” Olivia said grimly, “I fear I most certainly will have issues.”
The duchess chuckled. “You’re among friends here, so don’t worry. The dancing is all in good fun. We can overlook a misstep or two.”
Was she among friends? She rather liked the thought of that, but she dared not pin her hopes to it. She’d been without friends her age for so long that she’d taught herself to enjoy the solitude. Sometimes she even believed she truly did.
A sly look crossed Beatrice’s face. “And speaking of friends, I gather that you and Thorn have met before. Dare I ask how?”
Olivia searched for the best way to put it. “We had a brief encounter at the Devonshire House ball during my debut.”
“That sounds fairly innocuous. Your conversation did not.”
Dear heaven, how could she possibly explain the complicated situation her stepmother had put her in that night? “Well, we . . . er . . . did have a misunderstanding of sorts, which has left your brother-in-law disgruntled with me and my stepmother for all these years.”
“Disgruntled. Hmm. No matter. You shall have one dance with him, and then you need not see him again.”
Olivia didn’t want that either. But what did she want?
The impossible. For him to be attracted to her the way she was to